


epilogue

by v (benito)



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Major Endgame Spoilers, Terminal Illnesses, just a lot of talk of death and dying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benito/pseuds/v
Summary: “To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.”― Anne Carson, Red Doc>
Relationships: Kerry Eurodyne/Male V, Male V & Panam Palmer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 103





	epilogue

> _No man is an island,  
>  Entire of itself.  
> Each is a piece of the continent,  
> A part of the main.  
> If a clod be washed away by the sea,  
> Europe is the less.  
> As well as if a promontory were.  
> As well as if a manor of thine own  
> Or of thine friend’s were.  
> Each man’s death diminishes me,  
> For I am involved in mankind.  
> Therefore, send not to know,  
>  **For whom the bell tolls,  
>  It tolls for thee.**_

_**―** John Donne_

I.

V was initially opposed to the idea of a penthouse. It was too much of an extravagance, the likes of which he’d gotten quite comfortable living without after Arasaka had dumped him on his ass. Besides, he liked his apartment. He liked the shower that was always too cold because it didn’t have a door, the couch covered in dirty clothes and empty bottles, the desk stacked with shards of archived conversations and old advertisements he was too lazy to throw out. His stash, his wall of weapons, his own headquarters to retreat back to, to block out the light that was Night City. After spending the past few weeks with this apartment being the only constant in his life, it seemed impossible to imagine leaving it behind for a big, cushy penthouse, of all things.

Then came in V’s biggest weakness: a man by the name of Kerry Eurodyne.

It wasn’t like Kerry forced him to give up the apartment or anything; in the end, it was V who chose to give up the place in favor of greener pastures. But he’d be lying if he said that Kerry’s silver tongue wasn’t a big factor in the move.

Realistically, Kerry had to know the effect he had on V. There was a very small circle of people V would walk into danger with without any sort of plan, even less for the sake of _artist integrity._

But there was something about Kerry. The way he spoke, the way he championed a cause as little as a girl group covering his song and got V on board like it was the final stand against the evil corporate machine’s hold on the music industry. How his voice would soften when the conversation took a turn into something more serious, the grating of his vocal cords relieved for just a few moments as he got the vaguest impression of what he used to sound like. The way his face would fall, like a kicked puppy, if V said something Kerry didn’t want to hear—even if he needed to hear it.

So, yeah, he gave up the apartment.

In the end, V didn’t even come to regret it as much as he thought he would. The shower was big, spacious—still didn’t have a fucking door, figures—but the water pressure and temperature control certainly helped make up for it. He had a kitchen. A real, honest kitchen, with working appliances and everything. A big, comfortable bed, with blankets that felt like blankets. And Kerry.

Again, that certainly sweetened the pot.

Besides, V had figured the place was less of an extravagant penthouse and more of a glorified, long term hospice. He joked about it to Kerry once, and his face fell again.

_Yeah,_ V had thought. _Just like a kicked pup._

He’d had a lot of time to come to terms with what Alt had told him. And yeah, he got mad. Furious, even. Who wouldn’t be? You basically die twice, get shoved back into your own body and get told you’re already up on the chopping block again. _Third time’s the charm, buddy. You’ve gotta die sometime._

It’s not like it was Johnny’s fault. Or Alt’s fault, really. Nobody’s fault, except maybe Saburo Arasaka’s. He doubts even Dex truly knew the scope of the deep shit they’d gotten themselves into by taking the job. Not that he could really do much with that kind of grudge, anyways. He could’ve given in to that anger, he supposes.

He did, for a while.

“Call Jackie Welles.”

_“This number is temporarily unavailable. Please leave a message.”_

“Call T-Bug.”  
_“This number is temporarily unavailable. Please leave—"_

“Call Evelyn Parker.”

_“This number is temporarily unavailable. Please—”_

“Call Takemura.”

_“This number is temporarily unava—”_

“Call Rogue.”

_“This number is temp—”_

He yelled at ghosts until he couldn’t anymore. Cursed Jackie’s name for putting that damn chip in him, crashed his motorcycle as some sort of revenge then broke down in Misty's shop as a mechanic put it back together. Found Evelyn’s niche at the columbarium, begged her for answers until they asked him to leave. Stayed up for two days straight, until he started seeing Johnny again, pushed him against a wall and tried to wring his neck until he realized he was on top of a complete stranger. Locked himself in his apartment and thought of Barry, his neighbor. Wondered how he did it. Wondered if Johnny was right. Iron to the roof of the mouth. Maybe that would’ve been easier.

Kerry held him, sometimes. It was strange; not unpleasant, but strange. He was much bigger than Kerry, for starters. His arms barely managed to wrap around his shoulders, so he always settled for just pulling V’s head into his lap, running his hands through his hair until he calmed down. V hadn’t really pegged Kerry for the cuddling type. Or the comforting type, really. In all honesty, he half expected Kerry to ghost him after their night on the yacht, if he was being fully honest.

Which wasn’t. . .entirely inaccurate, he supposes. He’d only gotten one more text after that night, a pretty generic ‘miss you, stop by soon’ text while he was tracking down a missing shipment for Padre. V actually took the time to follow up on it, had drinks with him. Spent the night, even. But things didn’t really change, even after that. Not until Johnny was gone. That was when they finally talked. Really talked. Not just hypotheticals, not just vague concepts of morality and self-improvement; all that hollow, kitschy shit they filled the time with before.

II.

Kerry was redressing his bandages, tracing over the heavy bags under V’s eyes, the gaunt sink of his cheeks.

“You there, V?” He asked softly, cupping his jaw.

“Yeah.” Was the only answer he got back, the thinnest smile against his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Kerry sighed, pressing a kiss to his lips as he continued to gently wrap his arm in a new dressing of gauze. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what words V needed right now. Johnny would’ve. He was good at that, the whole ‘tough love’ schtick. Kerry was more suited to songwriting. Slowly considered words that he wrote over hours, rewrote again and again until they made sense. He didn’t know how to do this part. But, he supposed, looking over the form of him, looking so small despite everything, he owed it to V to try.

“I still don’t know what to call you.” Kerry said when he was finished, slipping into bed next to him, careful to be gentle with him.

“What?”

“Your name, V. I don’t know your name.”

“Oh,” he frowned, turning to face Kerry, considering him for a few moments before speaking. “. . .Vincent.”

“Huh.” 

“What, disappointed?”

“No, no,” Kerry laughed, draping an arm over V’s chest. “Just feels so. . .normal. Not like you.”

V gave a dry chuckle, leaning into Kerry’s touch. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason I stopped using it.”

“That the name you went by back when you were a suit?”

“No, actually. Everybody at Arasaka just called me V.”

“Goes even deeper, then?” Kerry teased, pressing into V’s shoulder as they talk.

“You could say that, yeah.”

“Well, you can’t just leave me there.”

“Really?” V smirked. “Here I thought you always liked a little bit of teasing.”

“Easy, tiger.” Kerry ran his hand down V’s chest, tracing the center of his stomach, stopping just shy of his waistband. “. . .don’t think we’re ready for that just yet. Love the enthusiasm, though.”

V rolled his eyes. “Not really much of a reason to use it, though. Don’t think there’s anyone alive who ever called me that.”

“Shit. Parents?”

“Mom died right after I was born, so I never really knew her.” He shrugged, shifting positions. “Can you, uh. . .help me turn on my side?”

Kerry moved him carefully, helping him roll onto his side so they were facing each other, making sure to put a hand on V’s waist to keep him steady. He placed a pillow under his torso, carefully massaged the vee of his hips as he spoke.

“Thanks. Anyways—dad wasn’t much better. Probably remember him drunk better than I do sober. He worked in a factory, taught me all sorts of shit about implants back in the day.”

V tensed, breaking his eye contact with Kerry before continuing. “Put a barrel against the roof of his mouth while I was at school one day. Came home to a shard with a list of numbers to call, fixers, old clients. Where he stashed his eddies. Shit like that. Found him in an old motel a few hours later. Badges didn’t even want to come pick him up, ‘cause he didn’t have coverage. Went outside and smashed a few windows, changed their tune real quick.”

“Jesus, V. Sorry, didn’t mean to. . .”

“Hey, not a problem. Was a long time ago, anyways.”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t mean to bum you out.”

“Please,” Kerry chuckled, running a thumb over V’s cheek. “. . .I’m no stranger to death. Been practically performing with him for the past twenty years.”

V scoffed. “Feels like he’s an ex I can’t shake, at this point.”

“No kidding.”

V’s brows furrowed in contemplation, thinking quietly as Kerry traced over the lines of his tattoos.

“I want you to keep the penthouse when I’m gone.”

“V, don’t—”

“I’m serious, Ker. My dad didn’t leave a will or nothing, got thrown out on the street. Don’t want you to have to deal with suits or anything. You can take the cars, too. Sell the guns. Whatever you need.”

“Don’t need anything, V. Not saying goodbye, not anytime soon.”

“Ker. . .”

“Don’t say anything, V. I’m not doing this, alright? Not going to feed into this defeatist pit you’ve gotten yourself into. You’ve fought so hard, V. Fought so long.” He grabbed V’s hand, making sure that V was looking at him as he spoke. “Not letting you give up now.”

“Johnny did most of the fighting.”

“Johnny used your spark to start a fire. Couldn’t have happened without you. ‘sides, think Johnny would be pretty pissed to find out you spent the rest of the life he helped you get moping around in a shiny penthouse above the city.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine he would.”

“So you keep fighting. _We_ keep fighting. Yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.” V gave another hollow smile, shifting himself to slot further into Kerry’s chest. And Kerry wasn’t stupid. He knew they hadn’t had any major breakthroughs so much as a point in the conversation where V had decided to give in and tell him what he wanted to hear. But it was progress. He’d hoped, anyways.

“Now, you want one of my special sponge baths?”

“You’ve gotta stop calling them that. Not sexy in the slightest.”

“Whatever. Bet your cock jumped when I mentioned it.”

“Fuck off.” He laughed, which was good enough for Kerry.

III.

Panam parked the car at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the Sunset Motel in the distance. Seated on the hood of her Thorton, the two each crack open a beer, watching as the sun begins to hang low in the sky, lingering just above the horizon. She’d called more than her fair share of times since the final raid on the tower, getting increasingly angry with V for sending her to voicemail. Truth was, he was scared to face her. It felt like he was some sort of symbolic figure in her eyes, like their partnership could tear through anything with enough determination. She’d already chewed him out for doing a raid on the tower with a crew of three, even showed a surprising amount of remorse at the revelation that Rogue had died in the battle. He wasn’t sure she’d even talk to him if she found out he was dying, as ridiculous as that sounded.

“How long?” She asked, finally, after a few deliberating minutes of silence.

“Vik said about half a year, give or take.”

Panam turned to him. “Have you tried—”

“I’ve tried everything. I’ve called everyone. The only people who _might’ve_ been able to help me were probably in that tower. Doubt they’re gonna be keen on saving me.”

“So what, that’s it?” Her voice rose, standing from the hood. V sighed. “What, you just. . .you break into Arasaka tower, kill Adam-fucking-Smasher, and what, now you’re just. . .giving up?”

“Panam—”

“No! No, V! That’s—that’s bullshit! After everything you—everything _we_ did, and you’re just tapping out? You should’ve—I could’ve—I still can, V! I’ll tell Saul, the clan will—”

“No, Panam.”

“What?”

“No!” V shot up, clenched fist pounding once on the hood of the car as he rose to his feet to face Panam. “I’m tired, Panam! I’m tired of big plans and heists, I’m tired of people putting their lives on the line for me! I’m not. . ." He relaxed his fists, shoulders beginning to sag.

“V. . .”

“. . .I’m not worth that, Panam. Especially not now. I’m not some front for a greater cause anymore. Mikoshi is gone, Johnny too. There’s no bad guy to point a gun at anymore. I’m just a guy, Panam. I’m just a guy who’s going to die a normal death. No more schemes, no more fixers. I’m done.”

They both fell silent then, just staring at each other with mirrored scowls. After a long stretch of tense silence, Panam’s expression softened, fading into something more sympathetic. It wasn’t much of an improvement, V thought. “Jesus, V. The fight in you is really just. . .gone, isn’t it?”

V pursed his lips, breaking her stare and looking away. “I got what I wanted. I’m king of the Afterlife, haven’t you heard? NC Legend. Got a penthouse, too.”

Panam’s brows furrowed, unsure of where the conversation had suddenly turned.

“You know, when Dex gave me the job, he asked me if. . .if I’d rather lead a quiet life, or go out in a blaze of glory. Blaze of glory, I said. Didn’t even hesitate. And I stood by that. Lived by it. Practically ran into danger every chance I got, ended up with a fucking terrorist in my brain because of it. Then weeks go by of me just throwing myself at every fire. I watched so many people die—so many because of me—and all I could think of each time was, ‘Shit, that’s gonna be me next time.’”

“Jesus. . .”

“. . .and I decided then, commit to it. Blaze of glory. If I was going to go out, I was gonna do it with a bang. Take them down with me, make sure nobody ever had that power over who lives and who dies. But I’m still here. Story’s over, and I’m still here.”

Panam sighed, opening her mouth to speak, but not quite managing to find the words. She only approached him, placed a hand on his shoulder, watched as he looked over the distant horizon.

“I never liked epilogues.” V said, still not meeting Panam’s gaze. “Hated ‘em, even. Thought they were stupid. Follow the hero long enough, ending’s always the same.”

His voice cracked, then, and Panam had only moments to react as he fell to his knees and began to sob. She knelt beside him, wrapping herself around him as he wept.

“. . .ending’s always the same.” He choked out, and Panam only held his head and closed her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> updates will be sporadic due to holidays, not sure how long this will be but anticipating about 3/4 chapters. kudos & comments always appreciated


End file.
